Oh, you trumpets, you petty thieves, stealing creases from honest sleeves.
From the folds of the white around her waist. Delicate stems; your unready taste. They say I’m a sorry sigh.

It’s free-fall fadedly for potential, not enough to eat. Oh, you tables, your all fucking insane. Conditional lovers with losses to claim. Say I’m a sorry sigh.

You’re half right, you’re mostly right. You’re half right, you’re mostly right.
When trumpets sound, I’m getting out. The pavements proud, I’m getting out. I’m getting out. I’m getting out.


Lyrics submitted by Tsunamisamc

Tables song meanings
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